


Benign Intervention

by black_rose4



Series: Writing For Others [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Drug Addiction, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-08 19:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15250260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_rose4/pseuds/black_rose4
Summary: Cait's been keeping her addiction secret, but it's gotten too hard to hide now. Thankfully, she has someone she can confide in.Basically, I still hate that serious conversations happen because you picked a bazillion locks. So this is to try and rectify that a little. Featuring gentlezed's Sole Survivor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gentlezed](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Gentlezed).



The sound of Cait swearing up a storm isn’t usually a cause for concern. Usually it’s just a stubborn lock that won’t open or a bottle of alcohol being poured onto an open wound. Little, frustrating things, but usually insignificant and easily moved past. But then, usually it isn’t followed up by a horrible coughing fit that seems to rip her insides out of her body and spit them out onto the dirt. 

“Cait? You okay?” 

No reply. A moment passes, then he hears a stifled sob and a sniff. Gingerly, Boston nudges open the bathroom stall. 

She’s resting against the wall, eyes closed and cheeks wet as she tries to take in ragged breath after ragged breath. A patch of blood darkens her chin, and his stomach sinks when he sees how much more covers her hands. Boston kneels and rests his hands on her forearms, letting her know that he’s there and that she’s not alone. Her whole body shakes. 

He wants to scream at her. He wants to shake her and try and tell her all the things that instantly come racing into his mind. How hurt and upset and worried he is for her. But he doesn’t do that. Because right now that’s not going to do anyone any good. Instead, he takes a deep, calming breath and waits.  

When Cait finally opens her eyes, they’re bloodshot and terrified. “I need ya to help me.” 

He answers instantly. “Of course. Anything.” In the back of his mind, a little voice worries at how quickly he answered her. He pushes that voice away. 

“I was hopin’ you’d say that.” Cait smiles through the tears, body still shaking uncontrollably. “I need to tell ye something, but I ain’t ever told anyone this before. Never trusted anyone enough to want to.” She tries to sit up and meets his gaze as best as she can. It’s hard to look him in the eye, but she wants to. He deserves to have her look him in the eye. “I’m sick and I don’t think I can hide it from ya anymore.” 

Boston takes a moment to process her words. He’d noticed a change in her palour, how her already fair complexion had slowly been turning a sickly shade of grey. But that’s all he’s noticed. The rest she’s managed to keep well hidden. He can’t help but wonder how long she’s been doing this. He bristles internally at the thought, but again when the little voice asks him why he’s so bothered he pushes that thought away.  

“Okay. Okay.” Boston pinches the bridge of his nose. “What kind of sick? How do I help you?” 

It takes Cait a moment to gather her thoughts together. Her eyes remain fixed on his, so kind and caring, but so disappointed too. She wants to look away, but she finds she can’t. He deserves to be looked in the eye when she tells him this. 

She takes another deep breath. “It’s like this: ever since I left home, I’ve been usin’ Psycho. I dunno why I’m still takin’ that crap, but I can’t stop - and believe me, I have tried. I can’t even go a day without it anymore and I’m fuckin’ sick and tired of it.”

She breaks off to cough again, hunching over the toilet bowl and spitting out whatever mess she’s just coughed up. She’s not sure if there’s even anything left in her to bring up, but somehow her body always finds something else to get rid of. She tries not to look at it, doesn’t want to see the damage she’s done to herself. When she’s done she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and tries to ignore the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach from having Boston around her when she’s like this. 

He watches patiently, waiting for her to finish. The voice in her head tells her she doesn’t deserve someone like him. Another voice tells them to shut up.  

She continues. “I’ve even been doing it behind yer back, sneakin’ doses when I think you aren’t lookin’. But it’s been makin’ me sick. I’ve been spittin’ blood - as ye can see - and I just generally don’t feel right inside, ya know? I need to get this shite outta me system before I wind up dead.”

Boston pinches the bridge of his nose again, takes in a deep breath as he tries to think what to do. The obvious springs to mind. “Can’t a doctor fix this? I thought there were drugs for that.”

“There are,” Cait explains, “but I’ve been using the stuff fer so damn long they can’t help me anymore. I need something stronger, and there’s only one thing I know of that might work, but it’s why I need your help.

“There’s a vault, vault 95. I’ve heard Vault-Tec used it fer some kinda social experiment. Some sick shite where they stuck a buncha junkies inside so they could prod an’ poke at ‘em. And supposedly they also had some special machine that could clean those folks back up good ‘n proper. If we could find that vault and get inside, maybe that machine could help me.” 

He stands then, so quickly that it catches Cait by surprise. Boston offers a hand to her to help her up and, after a moment’s hesitation, she takes it, despite the bloody mess on her hands which she’d rather not give to him. He keeps a hold of it then and wraps both of his hands around her one. His gaze locks with hers, intense and determined. Cait’s breath catches in her throat. 

“Let’s go find you that vault then.” 

  
  



	2. Vault 95

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unexpected sequel to chapter one. I wasn't planning on writing this, but well, it happened anyway.

Boston taps away at the terminal trying password after possible password. Another incorrect beep and he huffs in frustration, mutters a curse under his breath. Cait watches as he types, keeps look out just in case they’ve missed someone or something after all - though they’re damn pretty sure this cursed vault’s empty now, bar the corpses and broken robot parts. Her finger itches on the trigger, still twitchy from nerves and clearing out a vault-full of Gunners and assaultrons.  

A beep and a message appears on screen. He’s in. Boston clicks another key and the door slides open.

Cait peeks inside. Her throat is suddenly very dry and her legs feel like lead as she tries to make them move. “This must be it,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “the Clean Room.” She steps inside fully, Boston following behind her, and takes it all in. It looks like the other medical facilities they’ve found in old vaults before, but bigger and fancier. More equipment, more beds. More bodies. 

Her attention shifts to the back room, door wide open and displaying a chair that looks more like a torture device than a medical aid. She gulps. “There it is. The answer to all me problems, just sittin’ there in that room.” 

She pauses. There it is. And yet somehow she can’t bring herself to walk towards it. Cait turns to Boston, eyes wide and wet with unspilled tears. “I dunno if I can do it.” 

Boston’s expression shifts minutely into what she recognises now as one of concern. “Why not? 

Cait begins to pace, her hands shaking. “What if- what if the Psycho’s the only thing that’s been keepin’ me together? What if losin’ it makes me fall apart?” She stops. “What if this opens up me eyes an’ I don’t like what I see? There are reasons I dulled the pain. Things that I don’t wanna face. Things that I was tryin’ to forget. I-I’d rather be spittin’ blood than-than reliving that shite.”

“You don’t believe that and neither do I,” says Boston. “You deserve a second shot, Cait. Take it. Please.” 

A long moment passes. Her eyes drift over his features, taking in the sight of him. His eyes implore her to continue, but still he waits patiently, letting her make the choice. Cait sighs. Even now, she knows that he’d support her. Even if she backed out now.  

She hisses a curse. “Okay, okay. Fine, ya convinced me. I’ll go sit in that chair. But you best be ready to flip that switch, ya got it?” 

It feels like an eternity passes as she settles herself in the chair. Her heart races as she sits herself down and tries to ignore her gut’s instinct to get the fuck out of there, away from the needles aimed right at her head and the leather restraints Boston helps fix around her wrists. He squeezes her fingers before standing and leaving. “I’ll be nearby the whole time. Promise.” She wishes that comforted her more. 

The main terminal is less complicated to use than Boston had thought it might be. A few simple commands and the machine next door kicks into life. As do Cait’s screams. 

He manages to block them out at first. A few whimpers, but she’ll be fine. A scream, but she’ll be fine. This will be worth it. 

She sobs as the machine bores further into her skull. 

“Fuck this.” Boston presses the key to cancel operations.  _ Error. Task cannot be completed at this time _ . “Fuck. Come on.” He begins pressing more keys, trying anything to get the machine to finish its task early and let Cait go.  _ Error. Option not available _ . 

Cait’s screams echo from next door. 

“Stupid piece of shit!” Running out of options, he hits the machine.  _ Error _ . He screams and hits it again. And again. And again. 

The terminal beeps.  _ Toxin purge complete _ . 

He’s already by her side before the needles have fully extracted themselves, his hands fumbling with the wrist straps as he tries to undo them. He waits anxiously for Cait to say something, anything. Her chest rises and falls in slow, laboured motions and her eyelids flutter over her still-closed eyes. “Cait? Can you hear me?”

The faintest trace of a nod and her eyes crack open. She takes in the sight of him watching her nervously, blue eyes fixed intently on her face. Such lovely eyes. He’s crouched beside her, just like he was before, waiting patiently for her to make the next move. Cait smiles. 

She straightens up in the chair, still feeling uneasy, but also good. Boston offers her a drink of water, which she gladly takes. She has to make herself not instantly down the lot lest she bring it all back up again. 

“How are you feeling?” 

The water goes down well. Clean and clear and fresh. “Strange. I feel...strange. But good strange.” She looks around and takes in her surroundings. She’d paid little notice to them before, her mind focused on the chair and nothing else. A tray of old needles makes her shudder and look away. Her gaze returns back to Boston, to something familiar. “Everything feels different. Clearer. Nothing’s quite how I remember it.” 

She stands up slowly, legs shaky and drained, and takes note of everything she’s feeling. Different. A little uneasy, but otherwise good. Better than she’s felt in a long time. “This is- it worked. It actually worked. I don’t feel any of the shite I was experiencin’ before.” 

The realisation makes her sit back down and mutter to herself, “Christ, was I really that far gone?”

Boston shakes his head and takes her hands in his. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is you’re alright. And thank God, too. I was really worried for a moment just then.” 

She stares down at their hands. Normally, she’d jerk away. Normally, he’d be too wary to touch her. She smiles up at him and he smiles back. “I think- I think I’ll be alright now.”

* * *

 

Radstorms have never looked quite so beautiful before. Cracks of green split the sky. Dark clouds dance as the wind pushes them along, aiding them on their way. A voice calls out, but it’s lost in the rolls of thunder. 

“Cait?”

Her name cuts through the noise, and Cait turns to find Boston watching her curiously. “You okay?”

She smiles warmly. “Never better.”

“You’ve been stood there a while now.” 

She shrugs. “I’m just enjoying the view. Though it’s just improved some.” Her smile stretches into a grin and Boston finds he needs to look away for a moment, his cheeks suddenly feeling rather warm. Cait laughs, a sound neither of them are quite used to yet, but both want to be. She inclines her head. “Come ‘ere.” 

Cait takes Boston’s hand in hers, turning it over and playing with his palm as she speaks. “I never thanked ye for what you did fer me. You’ve give me a second shot at things and I’ll never forget that. So, erm, thank you.” She uses his hand then to pull him down to her, and she presses her lips to his. He freezes at first, taken aback by her actions, but then the little voice in the back of his head is kicked outside into the storm and he kisses her back, slow and tender and gentle. 

When they break away, she’s still smiling. “Sorry. I’ve been wantin’ to do that fer a while now. Should I not’ve?”

“Cait…” Boston sighs, shakes his head and chuckles. “C’mere so we can do that again.” His arms loop around her waist and he lifts her, her legs wrapping around him to hold herself steady whilst her mouth finds his again. 

Outside, the storm rages on. Neither of them care anymore.    
  


 


End file.
